I hate that Monday morning, when I am settling in with my coffee and finding red pen, black pen, and pencil, I have to tell what I did over the weekend. Well, turns out, I don't want to tell most of those people that I laid in bed, watched three movies, one of them made me cry, listened to Glee covers, took a bath, drank tea, hid out, wore nothing but underwear and a t-shirt, colored with Crayons, got jealous, saw a picture of a baby and wanted one, folded some of Josh's laundry and stole a shirt because it still smelled like him, made food, painted my nails, wished for snow, resented people then felt a little bad about it, and prayed half a rosary. So, most times, I shrug and tell them that I didn't do much.

Also, I'm so glad that my immune system is pretty badass, because I couldn't handle getting sick more than I do. Once my voice hits a certain note, it's just air wheezing out of my throat, or a squeak at best.

Josh and I get to have our nephew all to ourselves on Saturday! That crazy, sweet, beautiful, wild little four year old boy all day long, I can't even think of anything better than that.

Oh but wait, and then Halloween cookie baking with my lovely lady after that. And then eating said plate full of cookies in our blanket fort and drinking two (2!) full bottles of delicious wine. And probably having some sort of sweet dance party where I almost piss my pants upwards of 5 times because I can't stop laughing. This is a place where the most amazing jokes (and Tweets) come from. (Live-action beast. Oh yeah, WHAT UP. That just happened., @youandithelungs I am being screwed by a sexy fox in a vat of champagne., Mouthful of Giant. These can only be deciphered using a very specific code we have developed. Or unless you are bat shit insane.) And then sneaking onto the porch wearing shorts and rubber boots and blankets to share a smoke in the cold.

And then Tuesday I'll have been a married lady for two years. It feels surreal. Like I couldn't be any luckier than I am.

I don't think that I care to be exciting. I like simple, I like practicality and reason. It makes sense to me and makes me feel good. I like knowing that when I go to sleep, it will be next to him. I like routines, things having their places,this book in the morning, this book at lunch, this book before bed. I know this cuts me off from a lot of people probably and I know that it makes it difficult for me to relate, but it's true.
Sometimes, though, I do miss things. Sometimes, my insides soften just a little.

My birthday always kind of means the end of summer for me. Usually, it also coincided with the first day of a new school year, which was equal parts horrifying and panic-inducing. I can't believe fall is going to happen so soon. I can't believe in October I will have been married for two years. It scares me that time happens so quickly, as much as people say it and it doesn't mean much when they do.

Also, as a quick side note to how much summer losing it's footing makes me annoyingly wistful, it always means that my favorite television shows are almost back. Which, I realize, is both nerdy and lame of me to mention, but I do not give two shits. I'm entitled to my excitement! Specifically when it means we get back to getting together for dinner and then having a glass of wine huddled in blankets on the floor or on our deliciously comfortable couches.

In case you see this and in case you are having one of those days where life doesn't fit quite right, I'll just leave this here:( ...Collapse )

13 years ago. I never fully was able to grasp that they were children, because I was one. Foolish, stupid, beautiful children. But 13 years is nothing compared to the 412 that it spanned before this, I guess.

Something shifted in my brain right then, when I was standing over the bed, winedrunk and loose-limbed, staring at his beautiful face in the glow from the window. It clicked that sometimes, my life is so good that it hurts. I could feel the rug burn stinging my knees as I swayed, my hair dripping and my clothes soaked through. It was one of those moments, the important kind, a night filled with them. Building forts of sheets and clothespins and boxes, to face the open window and see the lightning flash bright over us, in awe. To huddle close under blankets, holding sticky wine glasses and popcorn, watching sad, heartbreaking things that make us hurt in a great way. Our Mary watching over us, just in case we need her. Lying on the porch, giving in to the torrent of rain, even though it was so cold. A hideaway full of whispers and bursts of uncontrolled laughter. It's that I get to end my night full of those important moments that I'll tell my kids about one day when I'm older by holding him in my long arms, he unconsciously sinks in, second nature. I just feel luckier than I deserve.

I am taking all of it, crooked fingers, stunted breaths, unexplained sadness, anxiety, love of things I shouldn't, my compulsions and neuroses. All of it, hand out my window, color-coded books, laughing when he gives me that look, everything that only we know. It's all mine, bony back and overlapping teeth, crossed legs, restless hands against my quiet ones, shuddering arms and legs, won't look into mirrors in the dark, fast laugh, quick temper, won't leave without saying "I love you". Tucked within my hollow bones, in the uneven spaces between each rib, in the dent in my left shin, in every bruise, it's mine. Finally, finally, when I press my hand to the middle of my chest, where those ribs unevenly meet cartilage, where it hurts so bad I can't breathe when it happens, right there I press my palm and I know, no matter what. No matter what.